


The Wonderful Wizard of Supernatural

by Airasyraye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing (nonsexual), Dreams, Gen, Humor, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8009617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airasyraye/pseuds/Airasyraye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a really stupid ficlet idea that wouldn't leave me alone. No pairings, but don't let that stop you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wonderful Wizard of Supernatural

Dean yawned loudly, then stretched. He was exhausted. He couldn’t wait to crawl into bed under the warm covers and give the day up for done. But first, he was extremely hungry. He knew it wasn’t good for him to eat right before going to bed, but he knew his growling stomach would keep him awake, so he walked into the kitchen, flipped on the lights, and opened the refrigerator. What greeted him first was a pizza box and he pulled it out, setting it on the counter, flipping open the lid to reveal four slices still sitting on the grease-spotted cardboard bottom. 

Dean grabbed a bottle of soda out of the fridge and stood at the counter, eating cold pizza and drinking from the bottle, too hungry and tired to be bothered with the microwave or even dishes. 

Pizza scarfed and soda guzzled, Dean sleepily pawed the light switch off and trudged to his room, undressing as he crossed the floor and collapsing into bed in only his boxers. Face down, he was asleep before the sheets had even warmed beneath him. 

 

******

Dean blearily opened his eyes to bright sunshine streaming through the curtains. He yawned, then pushed himself upright, blinking through the haze of having just awoken. He really should turn off that alarm, it was--

A dog barking.

Surprised, Dean turned his head. There on the floor beside him was a tiny black dog, yapping repeatedly and running back and forth at the side of the bed. Dean stared at the dog for several minutes, still on his hands and knees in the middle of his bed, unable to get his brain into gear. Finally he realized that he was not hallucinating the dog and he slowly moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Hey, boy. What are you doing in here? Did Sammy get girly over another dog?”

Dean realized that his room didn’t look right. The walls were made of wood, not concrete, and the floor was also wood. Across the room, on the wall, was a set of three wooden pegs and from each hung a dress. A tall mirror stood on its feet beside these pegs and a beat up high boy rested against another wall. The final wall was taken up by a large dry sink, on which stood a pitcher, a bowl of water, an old-fashioned hairbrush, and a hand towel.

“What the hell is going on here?”

On the floor by the bed, the dog was pulling on the hem of his--

Dress.

Dean shot to his feet, causing the little dog to yelp and run from him. Dean didn’t notice; he stood staring down at himself. He hurried across the room to the mirror, causing the dog to scatter again, and stood staring at his reflection. He looked the same, from the spiky hair to the green eyes to the tall, muscular if slightly-pudgy body, but he was wearing a blue-and-white checkered dress with a white apron, calf-length white socks, and worn leather slippers. 

Mouth open in a round O, Dean looked frantically around the room, then at the mirror again.

“What is going on here?!” he repeated, with more concern than before.

The tiny black dog stood a few feet from him, barking at him. It barked, ran through the doorway, returned, barked, and ran out of the room again. Dean ignored it, looking at the dresses on the pegs, then going to the highboy and then the closet. All girls clothes. Dresses, checkered, flowered, or solid color. One other pair of worn leather girl’s shoes. Knee socks, ankle socks, camisoles, panties.

Dean felt his face grow hot. But, yes, he could feel it. His outfit was complete inside and out. And there was nothing even remotely masculine to change into.

The little dog was still trying to get him to leave the room. Having no other choice, and wondering if he would be able to find some sort of explanation, Dean left the room behind the little dog, finding himself in an old-fashioned living area. It was a combined kitchen, dining room, and living room. A cook stove stood near a battered table and chairs, there was a ratty old armchair, two wooden rocking chairs, a knitted rug on the floor, and pots and pans hanging from pegs on the wall. The Bunker was gone. There were only three other doors--one led to a bathroom with a clawfoot tub, a master bedroom with a double bed that was empty, and the front door.

“Sammy! Sam, where are you?”

The was no answer except the little dog, which barked at him, then scampered to the front door, which stood ajar. Bright sunshine continued to pour inside.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

No answer, but the yappy little dog. Dean dreaded going outside in the dress, but he saw no alternative. No one else was in this house.

Dean stepped to the doorway, then stood with his mouth open again. The door opened onto a bright countryside unlike anything he had seen before. The house was just situated in the middle of bright green grass, with huge plants and gigantic bright flowers springing up everywhere. Birds were twittering in trees bearing lush fruit, and a bunny hopped out of sight under a bush. 

Dean stepped hesitantly out onto the grass, then saw to his amazement that just to the right of the house, which he saw was leaning drunkenly as if it had been dropped onto the ground, were more houses. Strange houses, round with domed tops, all blue, and with very well-kept lawns and gardens.

There were people, too. Three little men, and a little woman, about four feet tall. The men were middle-aged, almost identical in blue clothes and shoes and round hats, with beards and solemn, frightened expressions. The little woman wore white, was very old and wrinkled, and held what looked exactly like a magic wand in her hand with a silver star on top, like a little girl would carry while trick-or-treating.

“Um, hello,” Dean said, feeling his face grow hot again, as he knew he was standing there in a dress. 

“Hello,” the little old woman said. “Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”

Dean stared, the question catching him so off-guard that he could not speak for a moment. Finally he stammered, “ Wh-what?”

“Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?” the little old woman asked again. “The Munchkins, the little people who live in this land, would very much like to know.”

Dean stared again. “Um, I’m not a witch. I’m a hunter.” 

The little men in blue looked at one another and the woman blinked. “You’re a man. Then why are you wearing a dress?”

Face burning brighter, Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. I woke up like this.” Then something occurred to him. He looked around again, then at the little dog, which was standing at his feet, eyes on the woman with the wand, completely silent now. “Oh, I get it,” Dean said with relief. “This is a dream.”

Yes, it had to be one. It was the only logical explanation. And yet, if he knew it was a dream, why didn’t he wake up? Was it a Djinn hallucination? If so, he hoped Sam rescued him soon. This was unlike any Djinn hallucination he’d ever encountered. Maybe it was a curse instead. Or the angels were fucking with him again.

“A dream?” the little woman in white asked. “This is no dream, dear, it’s Munchkinland.”

Why did that word sound familiar? Dean couldn’t place it, and he decided not to try. It was just a dream after all. He merely nodded. 

“And, if you are not a witch, then how did you come to drop your house on the Wicked Witch of East, and free these people from bondage?”

Dean looked to where she pointed with her wand and gave a gasp of surprise. A pair of legs, clothed in black-and-white striped stockings, with shiny red slippers on, were sticking out from under the edge of the house. Whomever they belonged to was clearly dead.

“Uh, well, I didn’t mean to-”

“Do not apologize,” the little woman in white said. “For it is a very good thing. The Wicked Witch of the East is dead. You dropped a house on her, and the Munchkins are very grateful.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you must have. For there is the house, and here you are, and that’s all that remains of the Witch.”

“But--”

“Now, where are you from, my dear?”

“The Bunker,” Dean said. Come on, Sammy, hurry up. “In Kansas.”

The little woman’s brow wrinkled still further. “I have never heard of Kansas. Is it a civilized country?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then that is why I haven’t heard of it. For in civilized countries, there are no witches left, nor wizards or sorcerers, nor magicians. But the Land of Oz has never been civilized, and so we have witches like myself.”

“Are you a real witch?” Dean asked, surprised. “You’re not like any witch I’ve ever seen, and they do exist in Kansas. As I said, I am a hunter.”

The words seemed to have no affect on her. “Oh, yes. I am the Good Witch of the North. Do you see that I wear white? Only witches wear white, and you are as well, in your… dress.”

Dean decided not to be embarrassed this time. It was just a dream. “Okay. Well, you’re like no witch I’ve ever hunted. Why didn’t you free these people from the Wicked Witch of the East, if you’re a witch, too?”

“I was not as powerful, and so it is fortunate that you came and freed them. Now. What will you do?”

“I’d like to wake up.”

“Wake up? Darling, you’re not dreaming. You have killed the--”

“Wicked Witch of the East, I know. I just need to wake up, and then I’ll be home in bed in the Bunker.”

“You wish to return to Kansas? I’m afraid I can’t help you, but maybe the great Wizard of Oz can. He lives in the City of Emeralds, at the end of the yellow brick road. In the meantime, here, take these ruby slippers, for they are yours by right of conquest.”

And the little woman went to the corner of the house. Dean saw that the legs had disappeared, and the bright ruby slippers laying shining, empty, on the grass. The Witch of the North stooped and picked them up, then brought them back, holding them out. 

“No, thank you, I don’t want them. It’s bad enough I’m wearing these.” He pointed to the tattered leather shoes on his feet.

“You won’t get far in those. They are so worn out. Here, take these slippers, dear.”

And she waved the wand in her other hand and the shoes disappeared and reappeared on Dean’s feet while the leather shoes disappeared. Dismayed, Dean looked down at the bright, shining shoes. 

“Now, dear, follow the yellow brick road and you will come to the Emerald City. You must speak to the Wizard of Oz, and maybe he can get you home.”

“But all I have to do is wake up.”

“Yes, dear. Go on now, and good luck on your journey, for you will be traveling through bright and lovely places and also dark and dangerous places. But first, I will give you a kiss and it may give you some protection, for no one would dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch of the North.”

“No, thank you--”

But as before the Witch of the North didn’t seem to be listening to him. She grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down to her height, then kissed him on the forehead. Where she did, it felt oddly cool, as if he had something stuck there, but when he rubbed the area, he felt nothing. Then the witch twirled around three times on her heel and was gone. The little men in blue, who had to be the Munchkins, stood staring at him in silence, and the little dog barked at the place where the witch had disappeared.

“Um,” Dean started.

“Follow the yellow brick road,” the Munchkin in the middle said, and his voice was oddly pitched.

“Follow the yellow brick road,” the second said, his voice, too, high and scratchy.

“But--”

“Follow the yellow brick road,” the third said.

The door on one of the houses opened. A little woman in blue leaned out. “Follow the yellow brick road!” she said in a voice like a mouse. 

A man in blue stood on the other side of a fence that sectioned off another property. “Follow the yellow brick road!”

“All right!” Dean cried. He sighed in frustration. “Where is it?”

All of the Munchkins pointed to where the yellow brick road started, leading out of the strange little town. Dean sighed again and looked down at the dog, which was mercifully silent, looking up at him. The tiny tail wagged furiously when the dog saw Dean was looking at him.

“Well, come on.”

“Here.”

A Munchkin woman had come up, holding out a wooden picnic basket with a blue cloth over it. Dean took it, pulling away the cloth. Inside the basket was a loaf of bread, a block of hard cheese, and some apples. 

“Oh, um, thank you.”

The little Munchkin woman merely smiled. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

‘If one more person says that, I’m going to punch something,’ Dean thought.

He turned resolutely to the yellow brick road and started along. Anything to be away from the helium-voiced little people insisting he walk down it. 

“This is just a dream,” Dean said to himself out loud, walking along the road. “Or a Djinn or a curse or angels. Whoever is doing this, I’m going to kill them double. Sammy, if you can hear me, hurry up and get me out of here. Cas, can *you* hear me? Cas?” 

No answer. The ruby slippers on his feet made clack clack sounds as he walked, and he tried to ignore the feeling of the dress’ skirt whispering around his bare legs. His hairy legs. He looked and felt ridiculous.

After a while, the bright sunshine, bright greenery, and bright chipper chirping of the birds began to become monotonous. Dean looked at the little black dog that trotted happily beside him, now seeming content and quiet. Dean stopped, then stooped to the dog, who came right up to his hand, wagging. Dean saw it had a little collar on and on that collar a tag. He took the tag in his hand and turned it over.

“Hm. Toto. Is that your name?”

The dog’s ecstatic tail wagging was answer enough. Dean let go of the collar looking down at it. Toto grinned up at him, tail still whipping back and forth, waiting. Dean frowned, then grabbed his arm and pinched hard. Pain shot through his arm, but the scenery remained the same. Dean closed his eyes and pinched again, harder, until he thought his skin must break. He opened his eyes, but the bright everything remained.

“Pinching is supposed to work,” he said to the dog, who merely stared at him quizzically, tail still now. 

Nothing. The sun, the birds, the trees, the damn yellow brick road all remained. Dean got to his feet, then sighed.

“Well, Toto, let’s follow this yellow brick road, then.”

The dog wagged his tail again and hurried down the path. Dean followed, looking around as he walked. On the left were woods and on the right were farms. He was passing a cornfield, and as he came to its corner, he saw a scarecrow mounted on a pole.

A scarecrow with blue eyes, short brown hair, and a cheerful grin. Dean stopped dead, staring, then hurried forward, climbing awkwardly over the split-rail fence and into the cornfield.

“Garth!”

“Hi, Dean,” Garth said. “Hey, what am I doing up here?”

Dean blinked, then looked more closely. But it was Garth, and he was a scarecrow. He wore a plaid shirt, overalls, brown boots, and a straw hat. Straw stuck out from under the hat, from the sleeves of his shirt, his collar, his waistband, and the cuffs of his pants, though his face and hands were flesh. The pole was against his back, stuck through his shirt, and he hung without other support.

“Can you get me down?” Garth asked.

Dean stepped up, grabbed Garth around the waist and heaved, while Garth pushed against his shoulders and strained. The pole came out of his shirt and he toppled right on top of Dean, smashing them both to the ground. Garth got off, apologizing as he went, while Dean lay flattened and struggling to regain the air that had been forced from his lungs. Scrawny scarecrow or not, Garth was heavy.

“Sorry, Dean,” Garth said. “Here, let me help you up.”

He grabbed his hands and pulled Dean to his feet, starting to help dust him off. He stopped and took a step back, giving Dean a weird look.

“Dean, are you wearing a dress and shiny red girl shoes?”

“Yes,” Dean said, brushing himself off. “I’m wearing a dress and shiny red shoes, this little black dog is named Toto, my house that’s not mine crushed the Wicked Witch of the East, and I’m following this yellow brick road to the Wizard of Oz who lives in the Emerald City. It’s magic of some kind.”

“Right,” Garth said, seeming instantly happy with that explanation. Dream logic. “The Wizard of Oz. Like the movie.”

That’s why it seemed familiar. The old movie from the thirties or forties. Dean had thought everything sounded like something he had heard before, but he couldn’t quite place it. 

“What’s that on your forehead?”

“What?” Dean reached up, but felt nothing.

“You’ve got a round, shiny mark there. Kind of looks like someone put one of those silver star stickers for kids on your forehead, except it’s a circle.” Dean rubbed at his forehead, but Garth shook his head. “It’s still there.’

Dean lowered his hand. “I don’t know. It must have something to do with this dream.”

“Hey, Dean,” Garth’s voice was suddenly reproachful. “Why am I the scarecrow who needs a brain?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t make this up,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I can’t control it. I’m in a dress and ruby slippers for Pete’s sake.”

Garth started laughing. “Dean, you look really bad.”

“Shut up. Come on, let’s go already. I tried pinching myself awake and it didn’t work. Maybe I need to get to the Emerald City and then I can wake up, since that’s where everyone is telling me to go.”

“Who?” Garth asked, still grinning.

“The Munchkins,” Dean said with a sigh.

Garth snorted, but fell into step with him. Toto was circling around them, barking at Garth, but they both ignored him. The cornfield gave away to woods, which were becoming rather gloomy with false twilight. The trees were thick, the branches stretching over the road and blocking the waning sun. Soon Dean wouldn’t be able to see where he was going, and he would have to stop for the night. He wondered whether there was a paradox in sleeping in a dream you were having while you were asleep. Sam would probably know.

“Okay, so, we’re in the Land of Oz, heading down the yellow brick road to see the Wizard,” Garth said as they walked. 

“Right.”

“And you’re Dorothy and I’m the Scarecrow.”

“Don’t call me Dorothy.”

“This is one strange dream, Dean.”

“I know.”

They continued on in silence. Dean was all but trotting along, determined to find the Emerald City and wake up or break the curse or whatever, and most importantly, get out of the dress. But the woods were getting deeper and darker and he was having trouble seeing. But Garth wasn’t having any trouble at all.

“Hey, I can see perfectly well in here,” he said when Dean complained about the darkness. “It doesn’t affect me at all.”

Dean grabbed his arm. “Then lead me through. I want to find the Wizard and get out of here.”

Garth laughed, but dutifully linked his arm, ignoring Dean’s annoyed glare, and walked on. “Hey, aren’t we supposed to skip along?”

“Hell no.”

Garth laughed again at Dean’s angry, curt reply. They walked on, Toto running forward and coming back, over and over. As Dean walked, he heard his stomach growl. Garth looked over, then pointed at the basket.

“Got food in there?”

“Yes. Bread and cheese and apples. The Munchkins gave them to me.”

“Well, we can stop and you can eat. I’m not hungry at all.”

“I’m not stopping. The longer we walk, the sooner we’ll get there.”

“Yeah, but dream or not, your stomach’s saying you’re hungry. Isn’t it hurting?”

It was. He really felt hungry. Starving in fact. 

He sighed and pushed back the blanket, grabbing the loaf of bread. “I’ll eat while we walk--don’t stop.”

“Gotcha. Man, it’s weird seeing food and not wanting to eat it. Must be the scarecrow thing.”

Dean didn’t reply, stuffing the bread into his mouth and taking off an enormous bite. He felt ludicrous with every step in those shoes and dress, acutely aware, despite his best efforts, of the hem brushing against his legs, the breeze against his knees, and the lace at the collar and sleeves. 

He wolfed down most of the bread, then realized the dog was walking right beside him, pacing him, looking up at him with the big brown eyes. Dean looked at the small hunk of bread still in his hand, then tossed it down. Toto stopped and sniffed at it, then hurried to catch up, whining. Apparently the bread was not what he wanted.

Dean took out the cheese, taking another huge bite. It had a hard rind, but the inside was soft and tasty. Dean shifted it to the hand of the arm holding the basket, the one linked through with Garth’s, and tore off a piece, which he threw to the dog. Toto stopped, sniffed, then snapped it up. Dean and Garth continued on, but Toto quickly caught up, whining for more. Dean threw him another piece, then tore off another chunk and crammed it into his mouth.

Garth continued on, leading him along the path that was getting darker. Dean chewed and swallowed with difficulty, then threw the last of the cheese to Toto and closed the basket, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He felt better, at least. His feet ached in the ruby slippers, but he didn’t want to stop. 

They rounded a bend in the road, when Dean heard a groan. Garth heard it too, for he stopped and looked around. Dean immediately pulled his arm from his.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked.

The groan sounded again. It sounded like a person in distress. Dean looked around. It sounded like it had come from in the woods, just off the path. Dean looked up at Garth.

“It sounds like someone’s hurt,” Garth said. “Let’s go and see.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Garth turned off the road and led Dean through the bushes, until they had walked a little way into the trees. Then Dean saw him, a man, standing near a tree, holding an axe above his head. He wasn’t moving, but the groan came again, and it was coming from him. Dean cautiously moved forward, aware as he went that the person seemed to being shining in what little light filtered through the leaves. The amplified effect made it easier to see.

“It’s the Tin Woodsman,” Garth said, coming up behind him. “I think. That’s how the movie goes, anyway.”

And so it was. But it wasn’t just the tin woodsman.

“Crowley?” Dean asked in amazement.

It was indeed Crowley, standing beside the tree, holding the axe up in the air above his head. His skin, hair, clothes, and eyes were the bright silver of tin, but otherwise it was Crowley exactly, from the severe haircut, to the businessman suit, only made entirely of metal and holding an axe. And frozen stiff.

Dean about killed himself laughing. Garth circled around, looking puzzled, trying to find the reason Crowley was frozen in place.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you move?”

The eyes were silver, but they glared at Dean with the familiar anger and disdain he knew well. 

“I’m rusted through,” Crowley said, in a voice nearly impossible to hear, because his mouth couldn’t move. “Find me the oilcan.”

Toto was barking madly, dashing around in circles around Crowley. Garth looked around, saw the oilcan on a stump a little ways away. He went to it, snatched it up, then came back to Crowley. He quickly squirted oil into the joints at Crowley’s hips, knees, and ankles.

Once Garth had oiled Crowley’s body from the waist down, and the shiny silver left leg shot out, kicking Dean in the shin. Dean yelped and rubbed the bruised area. Toto started growling. Crowley kicked at Dean again, moving awkwardly as his upper body was still frozen, axe over his head and jaw locked shut. Dean grabbed the foot and shoved, knocking the tin demon over on his back.

“Kick me again, and I’m making soup cans out of you.”

Garth frowned at him and took the oilcan and oiled Crowley’s armpits, elbows, wrists, neck, and lastly, his jaw. Crowley let his arms down with visible relief, moving his jaw up and down as he sat up and then he glared at Dean like he’d like nothing better than to swing the axe into his face.

“What the bloody hell going on here?”

“It’s just a dream,” Dean said. “We’re in the Land of Oz, going to see the Wizard, and Garth’s the Scarecrow and you’re the Tin Woodsman, and I’m Do--just trying to wake up.”

As Crowley got to his feet, his silver eyes ran over Dean’s body and he blinked several times. “Are you in a dress?”

“And shiny bright slippers,” Garth said with a wide grin.

“*Yes*,” Dean snapped. “What part of ‘it’s a dream’ did you not hear?”

Toto was barking up a storm. Crowley glared at him, then raised the axe. Garth snatched the dog from danger, holding him in his arms. “Don’t do that, he doesn’t know any better.”

“If it’s a dream, it doesn’t matter,” Crowley said. But he threw the axe down and put one hand in his pocket in the classic Crowley pose. “And if this is a dream, you’re weirder than I ever took you for.”

“I can’t control what I dream. If it is a dream. We’re going to the see the Wizard, who will hopefully ‘send me back home’ and I can wake up and end this. Crowley, Garth and me are following the yellow brick road. Are you coming or not?”

“Land of Oz and the Wizard?” Crowley asked, his brow furrowing, which was a neat trick with tin. “This sounds familiar. Is he in the Ruby City?”

“Emerald City,” Garth corrected as he let Toto down. “It’s the shoes that are ruby.”

“I thought they were silver.”

“They’re ruby. It’s always the ruby slippers.”

“In the movie, but the original story was a book.” 

“Whatever,” Dean said. “Yes, Crowley, the Emerald City. The Wizard of Oz.”

“Why don’t you just click the stupid shoes together? Isn’t that how it ends anyway?”

Dean’s mouth opened in surprise, then he looked down eagerly at the shoes glittering dully even in the near lack of light. Crowley was right. At the end, Dorothy only had to click the heels together three times to get home. Garth, who seemed to delight in this, grinned again.

“Don’t forget to close your eyes and say, ‘There’s no place like home’, Dean.”

Dean glared at him, but did as he said. He closed his eyes, then clicked the heels together. “There’s no place like home.”

“You look ridiculous,” Crowley said.

Dismayed, Dean opened his eyes. Garth and Crowley still stood before him, one made of straw, the other of tin. Toto stood beside him, tail wagging slowly, looking confused. Dean looked around at the shadowy forest, then tried again, clicking the heels three times with his eyes closed, murmuring the line three times. But when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.

“What’s going on? Why didn’t it work?”

“I don’t know,” Garth said. “Isn’t that how it ends? Crowley, what about the book? Do she do that in the book?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You knew the shoes were silver. How did you know that if you didn’t read it?”

“I heard it somewhere, I guess. Do I look like the kind of person who reads children’s fantasy books?”

“You were a kid once,” Dean said. “Hell, you were alive as a demon when the damn book was written.” Before Crowley could reply, Dean went on. “I think she does do it in the book. I kind of remember reading it once now that Crowley mentioned the silver shoes. I did read it, or Mom read it to me, when I was little, but I don’t remember if she says, ‘There’s no place like home’. It was a long time ago. Wait. Pinching myself didn’t work, and clicking the heels didn’t work. But I found Toto first, and then the Wicked Witch of the East, then Garth, and then you, Crowley. Maybe I have to do this like the story goes. I have to find the Emerald City and get the Wizard to tell me to click the heels, and then I can go.”

“What about the Cowardly Lion?” Garth asked.

Dean blinked. “Oh, right. Um, don’t they find him along the road? Come on, let’s go, we’ll find the Lion, then we’ll go the City. But quick, because I want out of this dress.”

“I think you look quite darling.”

“Crowley, shut up, or I’m taking that axe and chopping you up.”

“Try it.” Crowley bent and picked up the axe. 

Garth stepped between them. “Come on, let’s find the Cowardly Lion and get out of here. Let’s go. It’s getting real dark.” He linked his arm with Dean again. 

Dean reluctantly allowed it, then looked over his shoulder at Crowley. “Come on, if you’re coming, but I’ll pray for rain just the same.”

You can put the oilcan in his basket,” Garth said. “We should probably keep it. You could rust again.”

Crowley snatched up the oilcan and shoved it into the basket. “Freud would have a banner day with you, Dean.”

Choosing not to respond to that, Dean started off with Garth. Crowley walked behind them, angrily silent, his tin boots making metallic thuds against the brick to counterpoint the clack of Dean’s heels. He carried the axe in his hand, apparently dictated by the rules of this craziness to keep it with him, just as Garth kept the hat on his head and Dean the basket. 

The woods were all but night dark now. Dean hoped they found the Lion soon, but he feared they would have to stop and spend the night. Eventually, they had no choice. Dean was blind now, tripping over irregularities in the brick. After the sixth time of nearly bringing Garth down with him, Garth pulled him to a stop.

“Hey, Dean, you’re about to fall over. You’d better stop and sleep. I’m tired at all, but I’m made of straw.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Dean said. “I want this over with.”

“Maybe when you fall asleep here, you’ll wake up. You know, like falling in a dream. You always wake up before you hit.”

Dean hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t particularly want to sleep with Crowley around, but what choice did he have? He was actually starting to feel tired and he was going nowhere else unless he wanted to let Garth carry him and there was no way he was doing that. 

“Where?” Dean asked. “There’s just woods.”

“Lay down on the ground,” Garth said. “If it doesn’t work, I’m not going to sleep, so I’ll watch out for bad things. Crowley, too.”

Crowley snorted then walked away a few paces. Dean heard the metallic thudding of his boots. Dean moved cautiously by feel until he encountered a tree and settled himself down. As he sat down, he had to rearrange the skirt and tucking his legs under him, determined that no one would ever see that he was wearing panties on under the dress. At least he was still male. Though whether that was better or worse, he wasn’t sure.

Dean never thought he’d miss being able to bunk down in a ratty motel room. He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, hoping that falling asleep in a dream would be like falling in a dream. And he would wake up and try to forget this had ever happened.

 

******

But when Dean opened his eyes, it was to sun filtering through leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Garth stood right where he’d been when Dean had gone to sleep, standing and facing him, unmoving. Crowley stood behind Garth, across the road, arms folded over his chest with the axe pressed against him and his back to them. The little dog lay beside him, head on his lap. Dean moaned in disappointment, sitting up and wincing at the cricks in his spine. 

“It didn’t fucking work.”

“Guess not,” Garth said. “I’ve been standing here for hours. And it’s weird not being tired or hungry, but I can still be bored.”

“If you’re awake, let’s go,” Crowley said without turning around. 

Dean climbed stiffly to his feet, Garth bending down to help him. Toto ran around, tail wagging, then went from tree to tree by the path, sniffing at each. Dean looked down at the dog, then smiled, speaking a stage whisper, intentionally loud enough to hear.

“Hey, hey. Toto. You gotta pee? Go pee on Crowley, boy. Tin statues are fun to pee on.”

“Dean…” 

Dean chuckled as the dog stood looking up at him, tail wagging slowly. Crowley started moving, turning toward the direction they’d been walking toward, his feet still making metallic clangs. Toto watched him, tail no longer wagging, then turned and ran away into the woods. Dean finished stretching the kinks out of his body and picked up the basket, in which there were still a few apples to eat. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

They started down the path again, this time Crowley leading. Toto joined them a few minutes later, running around to sniff at trees and flowers and whatever else caught his interest. After a bit, Dean realized he also had to relieve himself. He excused himself, ignoring Crowley’s amused expression as he trotted away into the trees in his dress and slippers. 

When he was done, he joined the Scarecrow and Tin Woodsman back on the path, both of whom were waiting, as still and silent as statues until Dean came close, which was disturbing. Why didn’t they move until Dean addressed them? Was it part of the dream logic? 

They started on the journey again, and Garth walked beside Dean, looking around until finally he said, “Come on, Dean, where’s that Cowardly Lion?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. He was getting really tired of walking along this yellow brick road through the woods.

“It’s your dream!”

“I know! But if I had control over it, I wouldn’t be walking around in a dress. He’ll show up. Hopefully.”

As if to prove him right, a terrific roar sounded through the woods. All four of them stopped, Toto yipping in surprise. Relieved, Dean hurried forward a few paces.

“Okay, Cowardly Lion, come ou--”

The bushes by the roadside burst open and out came the Lion, pouncing upon Toto, who gave a doggy scream, and smashing him to the brick road. Dean whirled around, about to go to the dog’s rescue, when he saw who it was.

“Sam?”

Sam, seeming wearing a man-size version of a child’s footy pajamas in the shape of a lion, complete with maned hood with round lion ears, looked up. The dog was pinned beneath his paw-gloved hands, whining and struggling. Sam’s face looked the same as always, except there appeared to be whiskers growing out of his cheeks and his eyes were golden. The maned hood appeared to be attached to his scalp. He got up, letting the dog go. He stood on his feet, looking more and more like an extremely oversized kid in a lion costume, and spread his paw-hands. 

“What the hell, Dean?”

Everyone seemed to know instinctively that this was Dean’s fault. Dean shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a dream,” he said.

“Yeah,” Garth said. “Dean’s dreaming we’re in Oz, and he’s Dorothy--yeah, that’s him in a dress--” Sam stared at Dean, which embarrassed him despite his resolve not to care. “--and that’s Crowley the Tin Woodsman and me, the Scarecrow. You’re the Cowardly Lion, by the way.”

“It’s just a dream,” Dean said hastily. “Come on, we found you, so let’s go to the Emerald City and find the Wizard.”

Sam looked around helplessly. Garth nodded in understanding. “Yeah, it’s weird. So let’s just go with it, okay?”

“Okay.”

The five of them started along the path again, Toto the dog putting some good distance between himself and Sam. Dean remembered vaguely something about the Cowardly Lion trying to eat Toto until Dorothy put a stop to it and befriended him. It seemed everyone was in the role of the movie until Dean met them, after which they knew exactly that something was wrong and it was Dean’s fault. Still, when Dean woke up, he’d be the only one who remembered, and he’d never tell anyone in real life, not least of which because he was in a dress. 

“So, Sam, is that a lion suit or is that your skin?” Garth asked curiously as they walked.

Sam turned his paw-hands around. The lion skin, if it was real, hung from his body in a baggy way, like the suit of the Cowardly Lion in the movie, which Dean was remembering more and more the farther the dream went. He thought that the Lion was really a lion in the book, but the dream seemed to be mixing both storylines together. 

Sam shrugged, reaching up to tug on the mane, which didn’t leave his head. 

“I guess it’s my skin, but it looks like it’s fake, doesn’t it? What about you?”

Garth patted his chest. “Straw. See, you can hear it rustle. It’s like my body is made of clothes stuffed with straw, but my head and hands look like skin.”

“Weird.”

“It’s how it looked in the movie,” Dean said.

“Crowley, are you really made of tin?” Sam asked.

Crowley refused to reply. But Dean laughed and had great fun in telling Sam that Crowley had been rusted stiff when they met him, which made Sam join in in laughing. Crowley kept walking ahead of them without looking back, pretending he didn’t hear. 

“Dean, what’s the shiny thing on your forehead?” Sam asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t know, it’s just been there. Garth noticed it when I saw him.”

“It’s the mark of the Witch of the North,” Crowley said from in front. “It’s only in the book.”

Dean stared suspiciously at Crowley’s back. “You seem to know an awful lot about this story, Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t reply. But at least Dean now knew what the mark was-- he wondered if she had placed it there when she’d kissed him. 

They continued walking down the yellow brick, and finally, mercifully, they were free of the woods. The bright sunshine flowed down from the sky, warm against Dean’s skin. The yellow brick path continued through softly rolling green hills before abruptly coming upon a great river. The path went right down to the water, broke off, then continued again on the other side. But the river was clearly too wide, too deep, and too swiftly moving to ford. They took some time to walk first up and then down the bank, but the river remained unchanged.

“Now what?” Sam asked.

“Hey, Crowley, can’t you take that axe and chop down a tree?” Garth said. “We can chop it up and make a raft, can’t we?”

Crowley glared at Garth. Garth held out his hand. “Then give it to me and I’ll do it.”

Crowley thrust the axe out at Garth, who took it and walked over to a small tree. He hefted the axe and swung it, but it barely bit into the trunk. Looking surprised, Garth tried to haul it out, but though the head had bit only about a third deep, he couldn’t remove it. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get this thing out,” Garth grunted, pulling and wiggling the axe. 

Sam walked over, grabbed the axe, and pulled it out easily. Garth, who had still been holding onto the handle, was hit in the chest by the back of the axe head as it came out and flew back like he’d been kicked by a horse. He hit the path on his back, then lay there in the road, blinking. Sam, dropping the axe, hurried to his side with Dean. Toto ran over and sniffed at Garth, whining.

“Garth, are you hurt?” Sam asked.

“No,” Garth said, still blinking at the sky. “That didn’t hurt at all, but what happened?”

“It’s because you’re made of straw,” Crowley said from the side of the road, smirking. “You’re light in the head and now in the body.”

Sam glared at him. “You’re the Tin Woodsman, so chop!”

“Hmph.” But Crowley walked over and picked up the axe. He glared at Dean. “You are lucky this isn’t real and none of us but you will remember it.”

Then he swung the axe and sank the blade deep into the trunk. He ripped the axe out easily, then swung again, and again. Wood chips flew and the cut in the trunk grew at a rapid pace, as Crowley was indeed a woodsman doing what he was meant to do and, as he was made of tin, untiring. Dean settled down in the grass beside the road, watching, Toto the dog running up and down the bank of the river, exploring. Sam sat beside Dean, sitting cross-legged despite being a lion, and Garth picked up his hat, brushed it off, and put it back on his head. Dean looked over at his brother and realized he was holding a lion’s tail in his paw-hands, twisting the fur bob on the end absently. 

“You have a tail, too, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I’m a lion,” Sam replied, still playing with the bob.

Toto approached Crowley curiously and got too close: a wood chip flew and hit him in the nose. He yelped and then came running to Dean, crying pathetically. Dean sighed and picked him up and put him in his lap, stroking his curly black fur until he settled down, after which he was content to sit with Dean. Since he experience with The Colonel and the other dogs at the shelter, he didn’t mind them so much. He still didn’t want one in Baby.

Crowley chopped the tree until the wedge nearly went through the trunk, then set the axe down, put his shining silver hands against the trunk, and pushed. With a groan and then a loud crack, the rest of the trunk snapped and the tree fell with a crash, starting Toto barking furiously. Dean put him on the ground and got to his feet with Sam. Crowley had moved to the top of the tree with his axe and started chopping through the trunk again to get only a piece of trunk and none of the branches and foliage. He got through it quickly and soon had a length of trunk about ten feet long. But, even as fast as he was, and untiring, the day was passing. 

Sam yawned. The teeth in his mouth were long, sharp fangs. “I’m hungry,” he said. 

“Eat the dog,” Crowley replied, chopping lengthwise through the trunk to split it in half. “That thing is getting on my nerves.”

Toto, who had been exploring silently again, was oblivious. Sam looked at him, and Dean had the horrible feeling he was considering it.

“Really, Sam?”

“I’m hungry, Dean,” Sam whined. “You dreamed me up as a lion…thing. Now I want some meat.” 

“Do you want to eat him?”

“Of course not!” Sam looked sick. But at the same time, his gold eyes were following the dog’s movement. 

“There has to be something in there you can eat.” Garth pointed to the woods in the distance. 

“What, hunt?”

“You’re a lion, aren’t you?” Garth said rhetorically.

Sam’s eyes lit up after a second. “Say, yeah. That kind of sounds like fun.”

“Should we split up?” Dean asked. Now that they were together, he didn’t want to let his brother out of his sight. “The North Witch told me this place is dark and dangerous for us as well as… bright and lovely, I think she said. You don’t want to get into trouble.”

“So eat the dog,” Crowley said. 

“No!” 

“Then you’ll have to hunt something or go hungry,” Garth observed.

Sam glared at Dean. 

“Or maybe the river has some fish,” Garth suggested. 

“I don’t have a fishing pole.”

A loud snap drew their attention. Crowley had grabbed a branch about two inches thick and snapped it off like it was a toothpick. He tore off the end with leaves, then threw it toward them. “There’s the pole, now find some string or something. Dean still has apples in his basket for bait and you can use the metal hinge on the handle for a hook.”

“That was nice of you, Crowley,” Garth said, setting down the basket and getting to work prying the handle off.

Crowley picked up his axe and went back to chopping. “I just wanted him to shut up.”

Garth smiled, twisting the piece of handle back and forth until it came free of the woven reeds. He pulled the piece of metal out, then held it out to Sam, who took it, but looked bemused.

“What am I supposed to use for string?”

“Here.” Garth took the blanket from the basket and tried to tear it, but he lacked strength made of straw. Sighing, he thrust it out at Sam. “Here.”

Sam took it, then suddenly extended sharp, hooked claws. Unlike the Cowardly Lion in the movie, his paw-hands were tipped with the wicked claws of a real lion. He used these to tear a hunk of cloth off the blanket, tearing the piece again and again until he had a very narrow strip. Then he squeezed the thin piece of metal until it formed an awkward hook on one end and was bent so far on the other that it formed a circle. Through this he threaded the piece of cloth, then tied the other end of the cloth securely to the end of the pole.

“Will it work?” Dean asked, looking dubiously at the awkward, improvised fishing pole.

“Only one way to find out,” Sam said, using his claws to cut a section out of one of the withered apples from the basket.

Crowley was still at the tree. He had worked more than halfway down the trunk and was still chopping. Sam walked to the water’s edge, the piece of apple speared on the hook. He cast it out into the water and sat down on the bank. Dean was disconcerted to see his tail swaying back and forth on its own.

“I don’t think they fish in the movie or the book,” Garth remarked to Dean.

Dean shrugged. “It’s not real, so I guess it won’t follow the storyline exactly.”

“That’s not good,” Sam said from by the river. 

“Why?”

“Because that means anything can happen,” Crowley said over his chopping. “Including us dying at the end.”

Dean frowned, but said hesitantly, “But if it’s just a dream, it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Maybe not to you, Dean, but even if we know we’re a part of your dream, I don’t exactly like the idea of dying,” Garth said.

“Me either,” Sam said. 

Disturbed, Dean turned away and stood looking back at the dark woods from which they’d emerged. Dean had decided against this having anything to do with a Djinn or a curse and this was because his subconscious was in control. It knew that sun was supposed to be hot and Garth was supposed to be loud and cheerful and Crowley distant and abusive and that hunger caused pain, so it made all of those things happen to Dean. It knew Garth, Sam, and Crowley would have a sense of self-preservation in reality, so they did in the dream as well. And dreams were often illogical as well as logical, so all of his friends understood and accepted that they were dream figments, and of course there was the whole matter of them living the Wizard of Oz. Sure, it was an extremely detailed and vivid dream, but he had had vivid dreams before. He would just have to try to detach himself from his subconscious and realize that no one was really in any danger and any embarrassment or hurt here would not exist in the real world.

Dean turned back to his friends. Garth was standing statue-still on the knoll like he had on the path while Dean slept, watching Crowley chopping relentlessly at the tree. Sam still sat on the bank, patiently waiting for a fish to take the bait of apple, and Toto was tuckered out from exploring and asleep on the sun-warmed grass. 

If this was a dream, and Dean was now sure it was, could he control it at all? It seemed that things needed to be played out linearly from start to finish, and they were locked in their roles, but what about the details? Sam was hungry, and so was Dean, and probably Toto, too. Could Dean make Sam catch a fish? 

Dean narrowed his eyes at the stream and concentrated, mentally urging Sam to catch a fish with his improvised pole. Sam gave a yell of pleasure that sounded half a lion’s roar, and pulled the fishing pole. Toto jerked awake, barking furiously, but no one paid him any mind, for Sam raised the pole and there on the formed hook was a large trout, wriggling madly as it sailed into the air. Sam swung it to land, then dispatched it with a vicious swipe of his claw-tipped paw. As the fish lay dead on the grass beside him, he lay the pole down and picked it up. The fish was good-sized, probably eight or more pounds. 

“We need a fire to cook it with,” Dean said. 

“There’s plenty of wood, but what are you going to light it with?” Garth asked.

Dean hesitated, wondering whether it had been coincidence Sam had caught a fish or if he really did have some minimal control. He looked around, and spied some rocks along the shoreline. Maybe he could snap them together to create sparks. He didn’t really have that much knowledge of how that worked or what type of rocks were needed, but maybe that didn’t matter. Sam would know, but asking him might change the outcome.

Soon Dean had a small pile of tinder set up into a cone. Without being asked, Garth pulled some straw from his clothes, which didn’t seem to hurt him, and added the dry fuel. Dean then sat on the ground and clicked the rocks together. Sparks flew from the stones and ignited the dry grasses after a few tries. Dean set the stones aside and blew gently until the fire began, and though the wood should have been too green to burn well, soon there he had a nice fire going. 

“Um, are you going to cook the fish?” Sam asked, still holding it in both paws.

“Yes…” Dean said, looking up at him. Garth, too, gave him an odd look.

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Well… I AM a lion.”

“Oh, gross,” Dean said. “You want to eat that raw?”

“I am a lion!” Sam repeated, and again there was the sound of growling beneath his words. 

“It’s okay, Sam,” Garth said. “If you’ll just give part to Dean, you can eat it raw, Dean won’t care.”

Sam looked mollified and he split the fish in half with ease. Dean felt a little queasy at that, but knew he had to eat, so he accepted half and speared it on a broken piece of branch, setting it up beside the fire to cook. Sam, still holding his raw half, turned around to face away and ate it. Toto ran up, then stood beside the fire, watching the fish, tail wagging. Dean settled himself to wait on the fish, noting that Crowley was still chopping tirelessly at the trunk, which was now in four long, thick slices. He might even have been enjoying himself, as far as Dean knew; he was a Tin Woodsman here.

Garth had edged away by the time Dean looked back, and he caught him staring mistrustfully at the fire.

“What’s the matter, Garth?”

“I don’t like the looks of that,” Garth said. “Fire and straw don’t mix well.”

“They mix perfectly,” Crowley said. “Get nearer and you’ll see.”

“Just keep chopping, Crowley,” Sam snapped.

Dean watched the fish, which cooked through quickly, and he was glad to remove it from the fire and blow on it to cool it. Soon enough it had cooled off enough to eat, and he tore off a slice to feed to Toto, who wolfed it down gratefully. Dean ate the rest of it, then looked west toward the setting sun. Crowley was chopping industriously, but the raft wouldn’t be finished before dark, and he resigned himself to spending another night. He lay down beside the fire, Toto curling up with him doubting that he would wake up this time from his dream if he hadn’t the previous time.

 

******

And he was right. When he opened his eyes, it was to the rising sun above and dew-damp grass beneath his body. Sam was still snoozing on the other side of the fire, which had burned itself out to ashes, curled up in a ball, tail on his nose. Garth was standing where he’d been before Dean had fallen asleep, watching over them. 

Dean sat up and stretched. He saw Toto was already up, sniffing at the raft by the river edge that Crowley had apparently completed overnight. It was made of eight roughly chopped planks, the top half more or less flat. All eight planks were lashed together with what looked like vines. Crowley himself was standing a short distance away, axe on the ground beside him, watching the river.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Garth said. “Standing here all night is boring, Dean. Let’s get to Oz, okay?”

“I’d be happy to.” Dean climbed to his feet and stretched again. He bent, reached down, and grabbed Sam’s tail, which he yanked. “Wake up, Sammy.”

Sam lifted his head, glaring with golden-brown eyes. “Let go of the tail, Dean.”

Dean did let go, but nudged Sam with one foot. “Get up. Crowley finished the raft.”

Sam stretched out catlike, both arms in front of him along the ground, yawning so broadly that all of his sharp teeth were revealed. He got to his feet, then stretched out each leg behind him one at a time, like a cat. Dean grinned, but wisely made no comment, and they turned to Crowley and the raft.

“Thank you for making that, Crowley,” Garth said. 

Crowley grunted, then reached down and grabbed the raft. With inhuman strength, he hauled the raft down to the edge of the water, letting half of it splash into the river.

“Be careful, Crowley,” Garth said. “If you get wet, you’ll rust.”

Crowley glared, letting the raft go and straightening up, folding his arms. Sam grinned fiendishly and walked forward menacingly. Crowley watched him without moving.

“Try it, furball, and you’ll be the next roast.”

Sam laughed and stopped, then turned to Dean. “Come on, man, let’s go.”

Dean had to relieve himself again, but at least there was water to wash with this time. He went down the river until he was hidden from view by a clump of bushes, took care of business, entirely undressed and had a rather unpleasant wash in the cold water, then dried up with the remains of the basket cloth, redressed, and joined the party again. Sam was just coming out of the trees well up the grassy knoll, and Toto was running around as usual, but Garth and Crowley were waiting in silent stillness, as usual. 

“Hey, Dean, isn’t there some Wicked Witch of the West or something?” Garth asked as the five of them pushed the raft into the water and clambered aboard, Crowley very carefully not getting a part of him wet despite his bravado earlier. “The East Witch’s sister or something?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Have you seen her yet? Doesn’t she turn up right when you--I mean Dorothy--kill the Wicked Witch of the East at the beginning of the movie? Or along the path in the woods?”

“But the dream me seems to be mixing up the book and the movie together,” Dean said. “She doesn’t meet the West Witch until…” But Dean couldn’t remember. “Sometime later, anyway.”

“I think you’re right, Dean. Look, your shoes are silver.”

Dean looked down, and sure enough, his glittering shoes were as silvery as mirrors. His subconscious had changed the color as he ‘remembered’ the differences of the storylines. Would other things change? That would make it harder to predict what would happen next.

“Let’s hurry to the Emerald City,” he said.

Crowley had broken off three long branches to use as guiding poles. He, Dean, and Sam used the poles to push against the river bottom and guide the raft out into the middle, while Garth held Toto to keep the frightened little terrier from jumping off and swimming for it. The dog tried to bite him, but he felt nothing, and eventually it seemed to realize he was a friend and relaxed. 

The raft was guided easily out onto the river, but as soon as they were a distance out, it became obvious that the current was swifter than they had thought. Despite their best efforts, the raft began to glide down the river. Then Dean lost his pole when it stuck in the mud in the river bottom, nearly dragging him off the raft before he could let go. The raft pitched as Dean stumbled and fell to his knees. Garth fell over, sending Toto into a yapping frenzy, though the Scarecrow kept his grip on the dog. Crowley and Sam managed to keep their footing, but Sam soon lost his pole as well. The raft was picking up speed as it got closer to the center of the river, and the yellow brick road was out of sight now. Running by them was flowers and trees.

“What do we do?” Garth cried. “We’re going too far!”

“Thanks for that brilliant observation! Sam, do you think you’d be strong enough to swim across and drag the raft with you?”

Sam looked over at Dean, then at the river, assessing. “Maybe. But how would I pull it?”

Crowley tossed his useless pole down onto the raft. “Get in and start swimming. We’ll hang onto your tail and you’ll pull us across.”

“Okay…”

Sam jumped off nearly before Dean could grab his tail. His leap sent the raft pitching again, knocking Crowley off his feet, but he landed on his side on the raft. Sam came up, spluttering, then started stroking furiously for the edge of the river. Garth let Toto go and scrambled over to the other side of the raft, clutching the edge as he lowered himself into the water. He kicked, struggling to help Sam propel the raft out of the current and to the other side with what little strength he could muster.

Little by little, the pair of them managed to drag the raft out of the current and into stiller water. Dean let go of Sam’s tail and quickly grabbed up Crowley’s pole and started pushing, helping them move the raft to the edge, where they scrambled up onto shore, coming out at the foot of a tall hill. Sam, soaked and exhausted, collapsed in the grass, panting from the exertion. Garth, not tired at all, legged up the hill to see where they were. Dean settled down, tired out himself. Toto ran up to Sam and licked his nose, which made Sam sneeze. 

Garth came back down. “I can’t see the road. We went pretty far.”

“We’re not lost,” Crowley said. “Follow the riverbank back the way we came, we’ll find it again.”

“Yeah, but what’s between us and it?” Garth asked. 

They would have to find out. Once Sam had recovered himself, they started along the riverbank. Dean was so hungry by this time that it was as if he had never had the fish at all, and Sam’s stomach was growling as loud as any snarl from him. Dean’s problem was easily solved, as they soon came upon some fruit trees they had passed, but Sam, who was a lion at least partially, apparently needed only meat. 

“I still say eat the dog,” Crowley said as they walked, Dean trying to eat his fruit quickly so as not to drag it out in front of Sam too long. 

“He hasn’t done anything to you,” Sam said. “Look, he’s walking quietly beside me.”

“He has no heart,” Garth said. “Literally. Hey! Sam, look, a rabbit!”

Sure enough, a rabbit was sitting on the ground beneath a tree. Sam didn’t so much as pause to consider; he suddenly bounded forward on all fours after the rabbit, which saw him coming and dashed away into the bushes. Sam crashed after it. Dean, sort of sorry to see the poor rabbit die, winced when a terrible animal scream arose from the bushes. Sam had his lunch. 

Toto went into the bushes, probably drawn by the scent of blood, but Sam, unseen, snarled at him and he came running back out, yelping. 

“Not a sharer, I guess,” Garth remarked.

They were still walking, knowing that Sam would catch up. Dean picked up the little dog and tried to comfort him, but frightened, angry, and hungry, he wouldn’t stop squirming and whining. Dean, desperate, searched in his basket, and was glad to find a small piece of cheese still there, turned hard, but edible for the dog, who took the small morsel gratefully. Afterwards, though surely not full, he settled down to be carried, leaving Dean to wonder if the cheese had always been there, or if he had put it there by wishing it.

Sam joined them not long after, falling into step with them without mentioning the rabbit and none of them brought it up either. 

Before long, they crested another hill, and the scenery opened up onto a great field of blood-red flowers. The ground was carpeted with them for a great distance, from the edge of the river to the horizon in the north, the great blooms nodding lightly in the soft breeze. Beneath the blazing light of the sun, the flowers almost seemed to shine. 

The party walked down the hill towards the field of flowers, having no choice but to tread through the enormous natural flowerbed on the way back to the yellow brick road. As they walked, Dean wondered why he had a feeling of disquiet. What was so alarming about a field of flowers? At least he wasn’t the only one.

“Flowers…” Sam said musingly. “I sort of remember these. Hey, Crowley, you remember these flowers in the book?”

“I told you, I didn’t read it,” Crowley snapped back. He paused. “But I do seem to remember something about them.”

“What kind are they?” Garth asked. The party had crossed into them, and the air was scented with the heavy, spicy perfume of the blooms. “They smell nice. Starts with a p, doesn’t it?” 

“Poppies,” Dean said, the word coming to mind suddenly. “A field of poppies.”

Speaking of mind, his was beginning to feel fuzzy. It had to be the heavy scent of the flowers, the long journey, and the bright sunshine, but he was beginning to feel sleepy. He yawned, Toto and the basket each beginning to feel like they weighed fifty pounds. He stooped and put Toto down. 

“Man,” Sam said. He yawned. “That trip across the river must have worn me out more than I thought, because I’m dead tired.”

They crested another hill among the poppies, and there before them was the yellow brick road, still some distance away, curving toward them before continuing on straight ahead of them, and further in the distance, rising above yet another hill, was a great and shining tower of bright green.

“The Emerald City!” Dean cried. 

“Finally,” Crowley growled.

“About time,” Garth agreed. “Dean, your subconscious could really use your car. Dean?”

Dean realized he was on the ground. He hadn’t even realized he had settled down, but now he was on his side amid the flowers. He really was so tired. His head was swimming. Even Toto was worn out-- he was already asleep a few feet from where Dean lay.

“Sorry,” he said faintly. “But I’m really tired. Let’s rest a bit.”

“Rest? But we’re almost there!” Garth cried. 

“Rest sounds good,” Dean heard Sam say. A heavy thud heralded the lion laying down. 

“It’s the poppies,” Crowley’s voice said, further away now than ever. “They’re poison.”

“Poison! We have to get them out of here! Hurry, Crowley, help me.”

“We can’t carry them,” Crowley responded. He almost sounded like he was whispering to Dean now, his voice was so faint. “You’re too weak made of straw to lift even Dean up, and I can’t carry them both myself.”

“Dean, wake up. Please wake up, come on. Just ‘til we’re out of the poppies, then I swear you can lay down again if you want.”

Dean tried to reply, but his tongue seemed glued to the bottom of his mouth. He couldn’t keep his eyes open and in fact they were already closed. 

“Wait!” Garth’s voice again, partially rousing Dean. “Something saves them, right? Doesn’t it? What was it?”

“In the movie, snow from the good witch,” Crowley said. “In the book… field mice, I think.”

“Doesn’t matter, one of them has to come. Hang on, Dean.”

‘If it’s a dream, it doesn’t matter at all,’ Dean tried to say. But did it? Falling asleep in the dream hadn’t woken him. 

Would dying?

It was cold now. He must be dying, for he was getting very cold. 

“Snow!” Garth’s voice was suddenly there again. “It’s snowing!”

Snowing? Then they had been rescued. Dean felt his senses returning to him, quickly, as the snow covered him. The spicy scent of the poppies was receding. After a moment, he was able to open his eyes, and then to sit up. A few feet away, Sam, snow clinging to his mane, was sitting up, too. Toto had gotten to his feet and now he shook himself vigorously. 

The snowfall stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The snow began to melt under the sunshine and Dean quickly got to his feet. They would have to get out of the poppy field before the snow melted entirely and the poppies began to spread their fragrance again.

“That was a close one,” Garth said in relief. 

“Being done in by flowers,” Dean said darkly. “How embarrassing.”

They hurried across the poppy field towards the road and the Emerald City in the distance, the snow melting around them. Dean could feel the coolness of water trickling along his skin and making his bangs stick to his forehead. Thankfully they were clear of the poppies before the returning scent of the blooms could make them tired again, and they paused to catch their breaths once out in the green grass again. Dean bent double, hands on his thighs, panting in lungs of clean, fresh air. He was already warm and dry again, the magic snow gone as quickly as it had come. 

“Uh-oh,” Garth said.

Dean looked up. Garth pointed at Crowley, who stood behind Dean at the edge of the poppy field. He wasn’t moving.

“He rusted,” Dean said. He and Sam both gave a shout of laughter. “The snow melted and rusted him!”

Crowley said nothing. Garth dug into the basket for the oilcan. He hurried to Crowley, squirting oil into his frozen joints while the Winchesters roared with laughter behind him. When Crowley came to life, he glared at them angrily and brandished the axe.

“Please, let’s just go,” Garth begged. “The City is right there, we’re almost out of here.”

Crowley lowered the axe reluctantly. Dean turned away from him grudgingly, the group beginning the final leg of their journey to the Emerald City. As they walked, Dean stared at the towers of bright green rising above the landscape. His memory was still a little fuzzy about the Wizard of Oz from so long ago, but if he remembered correctly, the Wizard was actually just a man, a man from Kansas who had come to Oz just like Dorothy. He wasn’t really a Wizard at all. 

The group entered the city about an hour later, greeted by a bustling city where everything was green. The roads except for the yellow brick were green, the houses were green, even the clothes of the people were green. The people stood watching them as they passed, neither greeting them nor appearing hostile, just watching. Dean and his friends continued walking down the path, until it ended at a tall, green gate. Dean remembered this part, the Gatekeeper. 

Dean grabbed the bell pull and pulled. The bell rang loudly. After only a second, a round hole opened up in the gate door and a man in green with a handlebar mustache leaned out.

“Who rang that bell?!” he demanded in a annoying, screechy voice.

“I did,” Dean answered.

“Can’t you read the sign?!”

“What sign?” Dean looked around with the others, but the gate door was blank.

“Why, it’s as plain as the nose on my face!” He leaned out further to point, right at an empty hook. He did a double take, then, clearly befuddled, grumbled under his breath and disappeared back into the gate. He reappeared a minute later, holding a sign that he hung up on the hook, then slammed the porthole shut. 

The sign read, “Bell out of order, please knock.”

Dean exchanged looks with Sam, who rolled his eyes. Dean reached up and grabbed the large doorknocker, slamming it a couple of times against the gate door. The porthole opened again and the man leaned out again. Now his demeanor was more cheerful.

“Well, now, that’s more like it!” He paused, then frowned at Dean. “Young man, are you wearing a dress?”

“Yes,” Dean said with a sigh.

The man coughed, then smiled. “Ah, well now, tell me your business!”

“We’re here to see the Wizard, please,” Dean said.

The man faulted. “The Wizard! No one can see the Great Oz! No one has ever seen the Great Oz, even I’ve never seen him!”

“Then how do you know there is one?” Crowley asked in annoyance.

The man stuttered, “Well, now, that’s…. Look, don’t waste my time!” He started to close the porthole.

“Please, sir,” Garth said. “We have to see the Wizard. The Witch of the North sent him here.”

“The Witch of the North?” The man leaned closer, peering at Dean’s forehead. But he still looked skeptical. “Prove it.”

“He’s wearing the ruby slippers,” Garth said, pointing down. 

Dean stepped back, feeling ridiculous, showing the gatekeeper the shoes on his feet. The gatekeeper leaned out, looking down at the shoes, then nodded. “So, they are. Well, now that’s a horse of a different color!”

Dean sighed inwardly, but at least the gate was opening. The walked in and found themselves inside the Emerald City. Everything was green, the buildings, the furniture, the clothes of the citizens, and the upholstery on the buggy awaiting them just inside. Another man sat in the driver’s seat, holding the reins of a white horse. 

“All aboard,” the man said.

Dean glanced at his friends, then scooped up Toto and climbed into the carriage. The rest climbed in behind him and they started off, the driver flicking the reins of the horse. As it started walking forward, abruptly it was purple. The driver saw Garth staring and smiled. “Meet the Horse of a Different Color. There’s only one of them, and he’s it! He’s the Horse of a Different Color you’ve heard tell about.”

The horse continued along the yellow brick road towards the Emerald Palace before them, turning red, and then yellow. It was blue when it pulled up to the gates of the palace itself. The carriage driver pulled up and then stopped the horse, which turned green just in time to stop before the emerald green Palace. Garth thanked him as the group disembarked. Dean saw that a great deal of the Emerald City’s denizens had followed along, catching up just as the group was getting out of the carriage. Now they seemed friendlier, for they were all smiling.

A loud bang made everyone gasp and look around. Then people started pointing up into the air. Dean looked up, in time to see what looked like a human figure riding something through the sky, darting in patterns. 

“It’s the Witch!” someone screamed. “The Wicked Witch of the West!”

The Witch was twisting back and forth through the air, and trailing behind her was thick, black smoke. She was much too far away to see, but the smoke patterns she was making were easier to see, and they soon formed words.

SURRENDER, DEAN!

“W-Who’s that?” Garth stammered.

“The Witch of the West, didn’t you hear?” Crowley said scathingly.

People in the crowd were beginning to jabber in fear. But a man at the gates, dressed in a very formal uniform, raised his voice to be heard. “Everything is all right! The Great and Powerful Oz has things well in hand. You can all go home; there’s nothing to worry about!”

The Witch had disappeared. Clearly relieved, the city’s population began to disperse. The guard turned to the group, which Dean led up the steps to the doors. 

“Stop. Orders are, no one sees the wizard. Not nobody, not no how.”

“Please,” Dean said. “It’s important.”

“Not nobody, not no how,” the guard said more harshly.

“But he’s Dean,” Garth said. “The North Witch sent him.”

“The Witch’s Dean? Well, that changes things. Wait right here.”

They waited, and the guard soon came back. With good news. “The Wizard says, ‘Go away.’”

Shocked, they fell completely silent. How could Dean be stopped in his own dream? Angry, he tried to argue with the guard, but the man wouldn’t budge. He slowly sat down on the steps, stumped. How would he be able to wake up now if he couldn’t finish the dream?

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay,” Garth said, sitting down next to him and putting his hand on his shoulder. “It’s just a dream, right? You’ll wake up sometime.”

“I want to wake up now,” Dean said. “This is ridiculous. I came all this way, we did, and we can’t even see the Wizard! I want to wake up. I want to go home. I want out of this stupid dress!”

“Hey, now, don’t be upset,” the guard said. 

Dean looked up. The guard fidgeted and then said, “Come on in. I’ll get you to see the Wizard somehow.”

He stepped back, reaching to push open the double doors, revealing a long, arched hallway that was of course green. It stretched on out of sight, dimly lit. The guard waved them to come forward, then began leading the way down the passageway. Dean followed after him, Toto running along beside him while Garth, Crowley, and Sam followed. Ahead of them, the passageway dead-ended on a pair of great green doors, half-shrouded in shadows.

The guard had them stop before these doors while he slipped through a small, man-sized door off to the side. Left alone in the long, forbidding hall, the silence was oppressive.

The double doors in front of them suddenly banged and creaked, then began to creep open. The guard must have gotten the Wizard to agree to an audience. Relieved, but cautious despite knowing it was a dream, Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him with him. Garth came with him, Crowley clanking behind them, and Toto bringing up the rear. The doors had opened up onto a massive chamber, full of shadows and flickering green light. Tense, Dean walked forward with Sam close at his side, and Toto now walking close at his other side. This dream could so easily become a nightmare.

Ahead of them was what looked like a dais on which sat a throne. A figure was sitting on the throne, which was different from the giant head and flames of the movie, if Dean remembered, but maybe this was in the book. If only he could remember more clearly! But that was time for you, inside and out of dreams.

“Come forward,” a deep, resounding voice demanded from the throne.

Dean’s mouth dropped open. He hurried forward, excited.

“Cas!”

Sure enough, sitting regally on the throne was Castiel. He was wearing a green robe and was, strangely, green himself. His skin was pale green, his hair dark green, and his normally bright blue eyes instead an equally dazzling emerald. Why he was green himself, Dean didn’t know, but the effect was interesting.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said softly. “This is quite the situation you’ve put us in, isn’t it?” His eyes ran up and down Dean’s body and he raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

Dean flushed. “I’m sorry. Can you send me home?” 

“No.”

“Why not?” Dean cried. 

“All you have to do is tell him to click the stupid shoes together, right?” Sam asked.

“No. Is it the Wizard who tells Dorothy to click the shoes in the story?”

Castiel knew all about the dream just like everyone else did, and all about the story even though he’d probably never heard of it before.

“No, it’s Glinda, the Witch of the North,” Dean said despondently, suddenly remembering. “How do the hell do I get her to come here?”

“You have to kill the Wicked Witch of the West first,” Cas said.

Dean looked up. “The Wicked Witch of the West?”

“Yeah, like in the story,” Garth said. “Hey, Dean, it’s your dream!”

This wasn’t going like he wanted at all. Maybe it had turned into a nightmare after all. Well, there was nothing for it. 

“Okay. How do we get to the Witch’s Castle?”

“Through the Haunted Forest,” Cas said casually.

“Another forest?!” Sam exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding! Dean, can’t you just wish Glinda here or something?”

“I wish I could.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Crowley said. “So let’s just get it over with. Kill the witch, bring the broomstick, and whatever else.”

Dean nodded, turning away from Cas. “Right. Let’s go.”

“Ah, jeez,” Garth muttered.

“Can’t Cas give us something to help?” Sam asked. “He’s a Wizard, isn’t he?”

“There’s nothing he can do to help us,” Dean said. “He’s not, Oz isn’t, a real Wizard.”

“Well, if there’s really nothing else we can do…” Garth said, in a way that made it obvious he hoped someone would come up with another solution.

No one did. Castiel told them the way and they were off. 

The Haunted Forest was every bit as creepy as the name implied. It was dark, with ragged, twisted trees. Strange animal noises sounded constantly and red, shining eyes winked in and out of sight among the shadows. The group walked close together through the woods, following the ill-kept, barely visible path until they came to a crooked sign. Dean seriously wished he had his pistol, the demon-killing knife, or even a damn canister of salt.

“’Haunted Forest, Witch’s Castle, 1 mile,’” Sam read from the top of two planks nailed to the post.

“’I’d turn back if I were you,’” Garth read from the bottom. “Okay, Dean, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah.”

“And here are the Flying Monkeys,” Crowley remarked.

Dean looked up. Through the trees, in the sky orange-purple-black with the setting sun, were the silhouettes of figures with wings coming rapidly toward them. Crowley raised his axe and Toto started barking. 

The Monkeys descended. Dean tried to run along with Garth and Sam while Crowley swung his axe like a baseball player lining up a ball. The Monkey he aimed at dodged and another came in behind him, grabbing him. Another grabbed his arm and both of them lifted him up into the air. They dropped him and he landed with a metallic crash. Meanwhile three more Monkeys grabbed Garth, knocking him flat and jumping up and down on him, screeching. Sam jumped into a bush, just dodging a Winged Monkey that had dived at him. Dean tried to run himself, but two Monkeys swooped down and grabbed him under the arms, lifting him up. Dean kicked and struggled, but he was borne up easily, and soon was far too high to want to be dropped. 

The Monkeys flew him through the chilly night air, the two holding him quickly joined by dozens more, all chattering and screeching incessantly over the beating of their wings. Dean kicked uselessly, but there was nothing he could do. He could only watch as dark, twisted woods passed a hundred feet below him. 

“Where are you taking me?” he asked the Monkeys, but he wasn’t surprised when none of them answered.

The flight through the cold, dark air was thankfully short, but Dean saw that the Monkeys were taking him to the Wicked Witch’s castle. It loomed on the top of a great, jagged rock, gray and forbidding. Patrolling around the premises were men with green skin like Cas, but dark green and dressed in black uniforms with large black hats-- the soldiers of the Witch. 

The Monkeys flew Dean to the tallest of the towers and into an open window. He was deposited on the cold stone floor, the Monkeys hopping around him, screeching, before taking off again through the window. Dean saw to his surprise that the Monkeys had stolen Toto, too. The little black dog came running to him as soon as the Monkey holding him let go. Dean bent and picked him, then looked around. The Monkeys were gone, though Dean could still hear their screeches from outside. The room he was in appeared to be empty. A round stone room, it consisted simply of a bare stone floor, walls, and ceiling, a low wooden table with a wooden chair, and an hour glass full of red sand. The hourglass struck a chord with Dean, but he couldn’t remember exactly what it was for. 

Where was the Witch? Why wasn’t she here to greet Dean and demand the now-silver shoes? Was there some different scene from the book he wasn’t remembering? This wasn’t going at all like it was supposed to. The shoes changed color, parts of the story were missing, Wizard-Cas was green, and the damn Witch was MIA.

Toto started squirming and barking in his arms. Dean looked down at him, then at the door, wondering if Toto sensed the Witch or someone else coming.

It turned out someone else. A guard, holding a wicked spear, opened the heavy wooden door. Immediately, Toto jumped out of Dean’s arms and ran forward, barking. The tiny black dog dodged around the guard, who tried to stab him with the spear and missed. 

“Run, Toto!” Dean cried. “Get the others!”

The guard, having made a mistake, was quick to not make another one. He glared at Dean and immediately shut the door with a heavy slam. Left alone again, Dean hurried to the window, watching. Toto appeared, running across the courtyard and then through the gate, pursued by guards who threw spears at him and missed. To Dean’s relief, the dog escaped, disappearing into the dark woods surrounding the castle. Maybe he would be able to find Garth, Crowley, and Sam and bring them back here.

But then what?

There had to be something Dean could do to help himself escape. Never mind the movie, this was his dream, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to sit quietly and wait to be rescued just because Dorothy had.

Though there didn’t seem to be many options, Dean noted when he looked around again. There was nothing but the table, chair, and hourglass in the room. There wasn’t even a rug or a tapestry. There was only the one narrow, arched window overlooking the Haunted Forest. It was far too much of a drop for Dean to risk jumping, and the walls were too steep to try climbing down. 

Sighing, Dean settled down in the chair. No amount of wishing seemed to change anything this time. He tried to forcibly summon a gun, a knife, Crowley’s axe, and got nothing. And he was left to ponder what dying in a dream he couldn’t wake from meant in real life.

 

******

A heavy wooden crack brought Dean back to his surroundings. He’d literally zoned out, bored despite himself with the plain confines, silence, and loneliness. Where was that Witch?

But now there was the sound of something heavy being smashed into the wooden door. Dean got to his feet, watching the door, and saw a shining axe blade appear in the wood, accompanied by another crack.

“Crowley!” Dean called, relieved. Toto had brought the group back.

The axe head disappeared and then reappeared as Crowley swung it at the door again. With some aggressive chopping, Crowley broke the door down and Sam rushed through. He was dressed in the uniform of the guards, as was Crowley and Garth when Dean saw them. They must have ambushed a group and stolen their uniforms to sneak in.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asked. “Hey, where’s the Witch?”

“No idea,” Dean said. “She hasn’t shown up at all.”

“What a second, isn’t she supposed to be wanting those ruby slippers? What the hell, Dean, why are you dreaming all this stuff wrong?”

“I can’t control it!” Dean said for the umpteenth time. “How are we supposed to get her broomstick if she doesn’t show? I’ll find her myself. Where is that Witch?”

“Looking for me?”

A plume of maroon smoke appeared in the center of the room, and when it dissipated, the Witch stood there. She, too, was familiar.

“Charlie?” Dean demanded incredulously.

Charlie, her face green and her hair black, but otherwise looking exactly like herself dressed up as a Witch, gave Dean a dirty look. “Why am *I* the Wicked Witch?” she demanded. “Why aren’t I the good Witch of the North or whatever, Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “It’s just a dream.”

Charlie looked at him strangely, her eyes looking down. “Why are you in a dress?”

“It’s just a dream,” Dean repeated impatiently. He was starting to get really damn tired of saying it. His annoyance deepened when Charlie giggled.

“Hey, if the Witch is Charlie, then we don’t have to fight,” Sam said cheerfully. “She can just give us the broomstick and we’ll take it back to Oz.”

“Think again,” Charlie said. “How about a little fire, Scarecrow?”

She raised her hand, in which sprouted a fireball. She threw the ball at Garth, which ignited his arm, making him cry out in surprise. He started waving his arm frantically, yelping. 

“What the hell?! Dean yelled at Charlie. “You’re our friend!”

“Not here,” Charlie said simply. “Blame yourself.”

“Help me!” Garth yelled, beating ineffectually at his burning arm.

“I’ll cut if off,” Crowley offered, raising the axe. 

“WHAT?!”

Dean looked around anxiously, suddenly sure that there was a bucket of water randomly in the room during this part of the movie… Yes! There was, and again he wasn’t sure if it had always been there or had appeared because he wished it. He didn’t care. He grabbed the bucket and swung it, splashing Garth’s burning arm. The water put it out. 

“Thanks,” Garth gasped in relief. “Cut it off,” he added angrily at Crowley, who shrugged. 

“Wasn’t the water supposed to melt the Wicked Witch?” Sam asked, hanging back the furthest from Charlie, his tail in his hands as he twirled the tuft nervously. For the first time, he seemed to be experiencing the fear of the Cowardly Lion. 

Dean’s toss had missed Charlie completely. She backed up several paces from the splash of water on the floor. Sam suddenly yelped and hurried further into the room from the doorway, from which suddenly poured several of the green-faced guards, baring their spears and snarling. Dean’s dream was spiraling out of control. 

“What are we gonna do?” Sam asked. “Charlie’s our friend, we can’t kill her.”

“Why not?” Crowley asked. 

Charlie glared, raising her hand, and smiled. “You might have saved Garth this time, Dean, but--”

Dean cut her off by stepping forward and swinging the bucket again. The rest of the water in the bucket arced out and splashed Charlie right in the face. She looked shocked for a second, then screamed.

“What have you done?!” she shrieked. “I’m melting!”

She was, beginning to shrink, her black robes billowing around her. Everyone stood still, watching as Charlie shrank and shrank, dissolving, until nothing remained on the stone floor but her smoking robes and witch’s hat. Toto sniffed curiously at the empty robes. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered. “You killed Charlie.”

“It’s just a dream,” Dean said calmly, setting the empty bucket down on the floor. 

“Yeah… but…”

Dean stooped down and picked up the broomstick. “Okay, we got the broomstick. Let’s go back to Cas and give it to him.”

Garth, Sam, and Crowley were all staring at him, all of them, even Crowley, looking shocked and disturbed. Dean knew what he’d done was callous, but it was just a dream. He hadn’t really hurt Charlie, he knew that, or he never would have thrown the water at her, never mind what she’d done to Garth. But now it was over and done with and they had the broomstick.

The green-faced guards were still in the room, but as they looked up at Dean, they smiled and lowered their spears.

“The Wicked Witch is dead!” one exclaimed. “You killed her. Hail Dean! The Wicked Witch is dead!”

It was time to return to the Emerald City. The broomstick was theirs, the last Wicked Witch was dead, and Glinda would show up and send Dean home. And awake from the dream.

 

******

The journey back to the Emerald City was uneventful, though Dean noted that Sam, Garth, and Crowley seemed odd around him. He knew his unflinching killing of Charlie had shocked them all, but they were figments of the dream. None of them would remember it in the real world, and Dean was content in the knowledge that he hadn’t really hurt anyone. 

Back at the palace, Castiel was still sitting on the throne. The whole ‘man behind the curtain’ scene didn’t seem to be a part of this. Ah, dream logic. Dean would be glad to be free of it.

“We brought you the broom,” Dean said, setting down on the step in front of Castiel’s throne. “The Wicked Witch of the West is dead, everyone’s free, so now send me home.”

“There’s still nothing I can do about that,” Cas said, standing up. “Not for you. But I can for the others.”

“What?”

“The brains, the heart, and the courage,” Cas reminded him. 

Dean sighed. Cas gave him a sympathetic smile, but turned to Garth, who flushed.

“Hey, I have brains,” he said, sounding defensive. 

“Of course you do,” Cas said. “You have all along.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley groaned. 

“After all, you are a hunter, and a good one,” Cas said, ignoring Crowley. “That takes brains.”

“I know,” Garth said in annoyance. Even his cheerfulness seemed to have limits. “Oh, Dean, you’re lucky this is a dream.” 

“You have plenty of courage, Sam,” Cas said, and Dean wondered if he was compelled to play his part. “You’re always by Dean’s side. You defeated Lucifer. And, Crowley--”

“Will you just bloody shut up?”

Cas smiled, and he looked like he was enjoying himself. He tilted his head, his smile narrowing into a thoughtful look. “And you do have a heart, Crowley. Somewhere, buried deep within the demon.”

“Let me deny that by shutting you up with this axe,” Crowley said, hefting it. 

Castiel ignored him again. He turned to Dean. “And now, Dean, it is time to go home.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “I thought you said you couldn’t help me.”

Castiel merely looked at him. Dean frowned uncertainly.

“O…kay. How are we getting home?”

“In the movie and story both, the Wizard came to Oz in a hot air balloon,” Crowley said, lowering his axe.

“You totally read the story, Crowley, admit it,” Dean said. Crowley refused to acknowledge him. Dean stared at Cas.

“You have a hot air balloon?”

“It’s your dream.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned, then shrugged. “Okay, if that’s what it takes to wake up.”

Castiel merely looked at him again. Dean frowned, but turned to the others.

“Well, I guess this goodbye, kind of.”

“About time, too,” Crowley snapped.

“Hey, Dean, don’t forget to tell us all about it when you wake up,” Sam said with a grin, his tail whipping back and forth happily. “So I can tease you for months.”

Dean pulled a face. “Never.” He looked down at the blue gingham dress and the shining silver shoes. “I want to forget all about this.”

Garth and Sam laughed. Crowley glared impatiently. Dean turned to Cas.

“Okay, let’s go. Please, I really want to wake up.”

Cas turned and led him across the room to a side door. Garth, Sam, and Crowley followed along. Through the door was a courtyard and moored with ropes was a hot air balloon, already filled and floating a few inches above the ground. An entire crowd of green-clothed people stood, watching. Cas crossed to the balloon and opened the basket’s door, climbing inside like he’d been doing it all his life. Marveling at the utter absurdity of dreams, Dean scooped up Toto and hurried in after him, Toto in his arms.

“Finally,” he said. “We can go.”

Crowley cut the ropes with his axe save for one tether, which Garth was starting to untie. Dean leaned over the edge of the basket, ready to watch Oz drift away, along with this crazy dream, and to wake up in his own bed, in his own clothes. 

Toto squirmed in his arms. A cat was in the arms of a woman in the crowd. Toto wriggled out of Dean’s arms and jumped from the basket. The cat got out of its owners arms and disappeared into the crowd, Toto on its tail, yapping away.

“Toto!” Dean opened the door to the basket and climbed out. He couldn’t risk losing the dog messing any of this up.

“Dean, wait, what are you doing?” Garth yelled. “I untied the basket!”

Dean looked up just in time to see the basket rising, already ten feet in the air. Horrified, he yelled to Cas. “Come back!”

“I can’t,” Castiel said simply. “This was never your way home anyway, Dean. You know that.”

The basket did leave Dorothy in the movie, too. Dean had forgotten. But that didn’t stop him from being mad.

“Damn it, I wanted this dream to end already!” he said.

“Glinda’s coming, isn’t she?” Sam said. “To tell you about clicking the shoes.”

“There she is,” Garth said, pointing.

The little woman in white was walking up. Toto came running back to Dean, whimpering. Dean ignored him. He hurried up to the Witch of the North, anxious.

“Quick, I want out of this dream.”

“Yes, dear,” the woman said in the same placating, skeptical tone from before. “But you don’t need my help. You always had the power to go home. But you wouldn’t have believe me if I had told you. You needed to discover it for yourself.”

“Obviously not, or I’d be home already,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Those magic slippers will take you home in two seconds. Toto, too.”

“Toto can stay for all I care,” Dean said. “He’s just a dream dog. He isn’t real.”

“Dean, don’t change the script now, or you don’t know what’ll happen,” Sam said. “This dream already isn’t going like it’s supposed to, right?”

Dean sighed and bent down to scoop up the dog. He restrained himself from squeezing the yappy ball of fur.

“Now, dear, just close your eyes, and tap your heels together three times and say to yourself, ‘There’s no--’”

“No place like home, I know. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that all damn day.”

The Witch smiled uncertainly. Dean sighed and thanked her politely, then turned to his friends.

“Okay, I’m going. Sam, Garth, Crowley, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I didn’t mean it.”

“We know, Dean,” Garth said. 

“You’re a strange person, Dean,” Crowley said less graciously.

Dean smiled ruefully, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He clicked the shoes together three times, murmuring the magic line with each click. 

******

 

When he had clicked the heels three times, he tentatively opened his eyes. Onto dull gray concrete. He blinked, then hurriedly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. 

He looked down at himself. He was wearing only boxers. The floor was carpeted, the walls were not wood. There was no dog on the floor or dresses on pegs. Relieved, Dean moved to sit on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. He looked up as a knock sounded on his door before it opened. A fully human Sam and a normal-colored Castiel peered around the edge.

“Morning, Dean.”

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Sammy, Cas.”

“Did you sleep well?” Cas asked.

“It’s almost noon,” Sam added. “We were coming to kick you out of bed.”

“I… guess I did. But there’s one thing I know for sure.”

“What’s that, Dean?” Cas asked curiously.

“I am never eating pizza before bed again.”

 

End


End file.
